Federation's End : Twilight
by Wyoming Farnsworth
Summary: The battle for life itself comes home to the Alpha Quadrant!
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 01  
  
"Damn those lower decks!" Captain Joseph Yanello swore as he lost his footing, the deck of the USS Vandemark lurching beneath him, and he found himself thrown into the nearest turbolift walls. He slammed into the surface hard, cracking his skull thankfully against the cushioned matting, and he dropped to the trembling floor. Beneath him, he felt his ship shivering from whatever danger the junior officers had found.  
  
"Damn those Starfleet directives!" he muttered about the latest philosophy which stressed granting junior officers increased command time at the conn ... unobserved. "This is the absolute last time I leave them in charge of anything!"  
  
To his surprise, another quake struck the Vandemark.  
  
As the shock caught him while he was climbing back to his feet, he angrily stumbled forward, flailing for the handrail but missed, and rammed into the opposite wall, again smacking his head into the cushion. Again, he slumped to the floor, rolling over onto his back, and, licking his stinging lip, he tasted his own blood.  
  
"What the hell are they doing?"  
  
By the time the lift reached the Bridge, he had found solid footing and watched as the doors whisked open. Incensed, he stormed onto the Bridge, red alert klaxons sounding all around him.  
  
"Captain on the Bridge!" Ensign Takamura announced, rising from the captain's chair with an expression of relief on his face.  
  
Pointing at the ensign, Yanello shot, "Stow the protocols until your next review!"  
  
"Aye, sir!"  
  
Scurrying, the ensign trotted quickly toward the Tactical Station.  
  
"Murphy!" the captain shouted, the deck wobbling once more beneath him. "What's our status?"  
  
Glancing back at him from her post at the helm, Lieutenant Bonnie Murphy kept one hand on the drive console as the other viciously tapped commands to the ship's propulsion system. "A spatial anomaly formed out of nowhere, captain!" she explained. "We were just sitting here, and it decided to join us!"  
  
"Where?" he asked.  
  
"Just off our port bow!"  
  
Ignoring his own safety, Yanello marched forward and leapt the railing, thundering onto the lower platform. Certain that he wasn't about to be propelled by another quake, he moved toward the conn.  
  
"On screen!"  
  
The viewscreen blinked.  
  
Suddenly, Captain Yanello found himself staring ...  
  
... down the drain?  
  
A tremendous blue cloud, large enough to engulf the Vandemark, swirled angrily before him. The anomaly crackled with energy that reminded him of lightning storms he had grown up with in rural Arizona during the monsoon seasons. The energy sparkled, stretching nearer and nearer his ship, but the ship's shield bubble absorbed any harmful effects ... except every time lightning struck, the inertial dampeners couldn't compensate fast enough, and he guessed that the lightning was the source of the quakes.  
  
"Captain," Commander Redek, a Vulcan, said from her post at the Sciences Station. "Lieutenant Murphy is correct. We were conducting cursory scans of the system when anomaly formed."  
  
"What were you doing?" the captain asked.  
  
Glancing toward the helm, Redek explained, "I had detected faint traces of graviton particles, which we moved closer to scan."  
  
"Moved closer?" Yanello queried. "Redek, haven't you ever heard the Earth expression about what curiosity did to the cat? Why in the name of Sarek would we move closer to investigate graviton particles?"  
  
"For reasons unknown, I was experiencing tremendous difficulty in achieving a full sensor analysis," the Vulcan continued, busy manning her console. Her black Vulcan bangs shook as the ship trembled, and she steadied herself by pressing her back deeper into her chair. "I suggested that if we were to move within one thousand meters of the particles that the sensors might have been able to filter out the distortion. Lieutenant Murphy obliged, and that is when the anomaly formed."  
  
Bringing his attention to bear on the viewer, Yanello studied the cloud. What he saw was a blossom in space. It slowly started to swirl, to spin on its own axis, trailing feathers of blue plasma in its wake. As he watched, he noticed the revolutions beginning to increase, and, for his own safety, he leapt for the command chair.  
  
"Well, Redek, as long as we're out of the frying pan and sitting in the fire, I'll give you twenty seconds to cook. Analysis of the phenomenon?" he demanded.  
  
Forcing himself to relax, he listened as the Vulcan tapped out several key sequences at the Sciences console.  
  
"Captain, I'm reading a sudden increase ... a massive influx of graviton particles," Redek confirmed. "The resulting gravimetric distortion is pulling the Vandemark in."  
  
Indulging his ire, Yanello snapped, "Commander, that much I can tell without the aid of sensors."  
  
"Sorry, sir."  
  
"Apologize later. Scan now."  
  
On the screen, the cloud spun before his eyes, tiny comets of matters being swept into its opening maw.  
  
"Do you have any idea of what it is, Redek?"  
  
Maintaining her Vulcan composure, Redek glanced at the screen.  
  
"Captain, we could be looking at the formation of an unstable wormhole."  
  
"Unstable?" Yanello asked.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Again, the ship quivered under his feet, and Yanello found himself clutching the arms of his chair.  
  
"How would you know that it's unstable?"  
  
"Elementary deduction, captain," the Vulcan replied. "As there have been no reports of irregular graviton particles or stationery wormhole activity in this sector during our previous scans or this area's history, I can make a summary judgment that this distortion is highly localized and unpredictable. Its appearance is unprecedented. Also, while the anomaly continues to draw the Vandemark closer to its opening, sensors clearly indicate that it is not growing in size." Quickly, she tapped a few keys. "Based on my understanding of wormholes - as you may know, I completed a research thesis on the Bajoran wormhole - I project the opening of the wormhole to be quite small, not to exceed three meters."  
  
"Three ...?"  
  
Uncertain if he had heard his Sciences Officer correctly, Yanello jerked his head in the direction of Sciences.  
  
"Did you say three meters?"  
  
Nodding, she answered, "That is correct, captain."  
  
Turning back to the main viewer, he argued, "That's impossible, Redek! How can a single wormhole with an opening that small produce such a strong effect on the Vandemark?"  
  
"For that question, I do not have an answer," Redek explained.  
  
"That's not the answer I wanted."  
  
"My apologies, sir."  
  
Grimacing, Yanello gave in to his twisted sense of humor and said, "We're about to lose a terrible amount of ensigns."  
  
He watched Takamura swallow.  
  
"I lack the information to even support a hypothesis," the Vulcan replied.  
  
"Murphy!" the captain barked, back in command mode. "I want maximum power to the shields!"  
  
"Aye, sir!"  
  
"Full reverse on engines! Let's see if we can't break ourselves free!"  
  
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Murphy punched the propulsion activation queue, but nothing happened. She tried boosting the auxiliary power, but it had no effect. "I'm trying, sir, but the ship's not responding! We're still being drawn into the anomaly!"  
  
"Murphy," Yanello tried, softening his tone but projecting loud enough to be certain that she would hear him over ship's waling alarms, "I trust you heard Redek clearly? The opening of that wormhole, if that's what it is, will only be three meters wide."  
  
"Yes, sir! I heard that!"  
  
"I don't think that I need to remind any of you that this ship won't fit through an opening three meters wide, and that means we'll be ripped to shreds in the wake of the distortion!"  
  
"Understood, sir!" she shouted. "But I still can't break free! It's almost as if -"  
  
Suddenly, a brilliant light flashed on the viewscreen.  
  
Bringing a hand up, Yanello diverted his eyes, but the glare still burned across the expanse of the Vandemark's Bridge. Fighting it, he closed his eyes tight, and he saw red, light so intense that it shone literally through his fleshy eyelids.  
  
"Redek!" he cried. "What's happening?"  
  
Eyes closed, Yanello listened to the patient tweets and chirps of the Sciences Station.  
  
"Captain, something's emerging from the wormhole!" the Vulcan exclaimed. "Lieutenant, hard to starboard! Repeat, hard to starboard!"  
  
"I'm trying! I'm trying! The ship won't -"  
  
Without warning, Yanello lurched, thrown from his captain's chair into the air, and he collapsed in a heap onto the hard deck. A tremendous 'clank' reverberated in his ears, and he brought his hands up to cover them. The sound faded slowly, like the vibrations ending on a tuning fork. He lowered his hands to the deck, and he felt the ship's trembling starting to subside under his fingertips.  
  
The bright light softened, dissipating, and he opened his eyes.  
  
"What the hell was THAT?"  
  
On the screen, the murderous blue cloud stopped spinning.  
  
Now, like a series of leaves wafting on a breeze, the visible distortion dissipated, sending tufts of energy clouds and lightning bolts harmlessly in all directions ...  
  
... like ripples expanding on the surface of a pond.  
  
It was dying.  
  
The wormhole was dying.  
  
"Redek," the captain tried, slowly climbing to his feet.  
  
"Here, sir."  
  
"What was that? What just happened?"  
  
"A moment, sir," the Vulcan replied.  
  
Murphy turned to look at her senior officer.  
  
"Captain ... it's just ... leaving ... vanishing ... without a trace." She pointed at the screen. "It's gone, sir, as quickly and as unpredictably as it appeared."  
  
Straightening his uniform top, Yanello turned and walked back to his chair, sitting down.  
  
"I believe I have completed my analysis, captain," Redek offered flatly.  
  
"This I want to hear."  
  
"What we experienced was, as best as I can determine at present, an unstable wormhole," the Vulcan concluded. "Without warning or precedent, the anomaly appeared. It could not establish itself within the operating parameters that we attribute to wormholes, requiring what physicists have termed a 'gravitational anchor,' so it did not sustain itself but for a few seconds. However ..."  
  
The Science Officer's voice trailed off, very uncharacteristic for a Vulcan.  
  
"Redek?"  
  
"Captain," she finally acknowledged. "As you're well aware, we've been experimenting with some new scanning procedures."  
  
"Yes," he said. "Sensor pulses ... but I'm not convinced what good they'll do."  
  
"This may shed some light are their applicability. Before the anomaly collapsed, I was able to transmit a sensor pulse, and I did receive the corresponding echo." The Vulcan feverishly tapped several keys on the console before her, and she studied the data filtering across the closest display. "If these spatial coordinates are correct - keeping in mind that wormhole mechanics can wreck havoc with our current sensor technology - then it would be safe for me to conclude that the wormhole was initiated in the Delta Quadrant."  
  
Surprised, he whirled his chair in the Vulcan's direction. "Did you say the Delta Quadrant?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Redek answered. "May I remind the captain that it is only a supposition?"  
  
"Understood," Yanello conceded. "But what came through the wormhole? Something hit us, and I want to know what it was."  
  
Again, the Vulcan turned to her screens.  
  
"A small craft impacted with our shields, captain. The craft must have had sufficient shields to protect its own integrity. I would imagine that it, merely, careened off our shields onto a new heading. A moment, sir, and I will scan for its new trajectory."  
  
Brushing a hand across his face, Yanello sighed heavily.  
  
'That was a brush with fate that came a bit too close for comfort in my book,' he thought. Chuckling to himself, he added, 'And I guess it isn't fair to blame it on the lower decks.'  
  
"Captain?"  
  
"Yes, Redek?"  
  
"The craft strayed onto course three-three-nine-point-five," the Vulcan announced. "It's heading toward the Thilon System. My scans indicate that its propulsion system is failing. I can speculate that it will be caught within the gravitation pull of Thilon Five within the next two minutes. Its orbit will decay, and it will plummet to the planet's surface." Redek tapped several keys, and she read the results. "So long as its shielding is undamaged, the craft will stay intact, and it will crash land on the planet's surface."  
  
"Thilon Five?" Yanello asked, searching his memory. The Vandemark had been out here conducting planetary surveys so long that he had, unintentionally, committed all of the star systems to memory. "That's an M Class planet, isn't it?"  
  
Nodding, Redek retrieved statistics on the world. "It is, sir," she confirmed. "It contains a society that has not progressed to the point of first contact. In fact, the Thilons do not, to our knowledge, maintain even a space exploration program. They are primarily nomadic, moving about from location to location as the weather or environmental needs change. According to current reports, Starfleet has established a duckblind operation there for observation purposes only. The reports indicate that the Thilons are, perhaps, several centuries away from Starfleet's contact criteria."  
  
Relieved, the captain slapped his hands on the arms of his chair. "Then if we maintain a duckblind operation, I guess it isn't our problem," he concluded. "See if you can reach them on subspace. Make them aware of what's happened, and give them our personal assurance that we'll stay on the look-out for additional anomalies. Ask them to locate the craft to see if it poses any danger to -"  
  
An alarm sounded on the Vulcan's console.  
  
Startled, Redek glanced down at the display. As the information scrolled, her eyes grew surprisingly more and more intense.  
  
"Commander?" the captain asked.  
  
"A moment, sir."  
  
Impatient, Yanello glanced up at the Bridge's ceiling.  
  
"Mom always wanted me to be an engineer," he muttered. "But, no. I had to pursue command."  
  
"Captain, I'm getting additional telemetry on the craft that exited the wormhole," Redek explained calmly. "It appears to have been a Class Two Probe, Artemus Class."  
  
Surprised, Yanello faced his Vulcan comrade.  
  
"But the Artemus Probes are Starfleet technology, commander?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And they were retired from service over three years ago?"  
  
"That is correct, sir."  
  
Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Yanello squeezed. He didn't like what he was now hearing, and a tension headache was beginning.  
  
"Did the probe transmit a recognition hail?" he asked.  
  
Breathing deeply enough that her breaths were visible, Redek confirmed the information, pressing a touchplate. She sat back in his chair.  
  
"It did, sir," he said.  
  
"And?"  
  
"The probe was property registered and catalogue to the Starship ... Voyager."  
  
Yanello had yet to see a Vulcan turn pale.  
  
'I guess there's a first time for everything,' he thought.  
  
Turning, Yanello said, "Murphy, get Starfleet Command on subspace. Priority One."  
  
The lieutenant turned on her chair, her face bearing a quizzical expression. "Sir, what should I tell them?"  
  
His routine science assignment had just gone awry.  
  
"Tell them ... tell them they're not going to believe this."  



	2. Chapter 02

Entirely of his own free will, Jean-Luc Picard did as Anij had, somehow, miraculously taught the 'offworlder' to do, and he watched the results as the Chemla hovering in the air before him flapped its colorful wings slower and slower. Concentrating with the power of his mind, he braked the passage of time to a virtual crawl, unbeknownst to the insect or the remainder of the world surrounding it. Curious, he watched the wings moving gracefully, fathomed every contraction and expansion passing through the insect's body necessary for it to sustain flight, and the captain smiled. Then, in a moment of total clarity, Picard thought he saw the balanced Chemla actually turn its tentacled eyes his direction ...  
  
... and look.  
  
Startled to find the butterfly aware of him, he suddenly released the colorfully winged insect from his control. It immediately bobbed upward in the air, the way butterflies do, and then it fluttered throughout the bedroom, darting high and low and, eventually, out through the window the captain had opened every morning for the last several weeks to enjoy the beauty and warmth of a morning sunrise.  
  
His eyes now fixed on the mirror before him, Picard studied every distinguished wrinkle, every mark, every crease around his eyes, nose, and mouth. As well, he reached up and traced, with his fingertips, the lines neatly and evenly drawn across his forehead. They were deep, reminding him of tracks worn into an oft-used dirt road outside the village where he grew up back in France. A calming breeze wafting in through the open window, the captain wiped away the thin layer of moisture from his face and leaned forward. Was it his imagination or had his healthy skin, over the last year, lost some of its sheen? Dismissing the thought and righting his jaw line, he squared his face in the mirror and stared at his reflection.  
  
Was it the light in here or did he notice signs that he had, truly, grown old?  
  
"Johnny?"  
  
Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and looked away from the mirror. Over his shoulder, he glanced back toward the sight of the welcome thick, plush blanket pulled down across the bed where he had slept these last few weeks.  
  
"Did you just call me 'Johnny'?" he asked.  
  
Sitting up slightly in the bed, Anij gradually smiled in the direction of her lover. "Did I offend you?"  
  
He smiled warmly back at her. "Not at all. As a matter of fact, it's a name I haven't heard in a very long time ... not since my days at Starfleet Academy."  
  
Mussing her hair and brushing it away from her cheeks, she replied, with genuine delight, "You don't know how happy it makes me to know that I can, in more ways than one, bring out the reckless youth inside the legendary Jean-Luc Picard."  
  
The word struck a chord with him, and he muttered it to himself. "Legendary."  
  
Frowning, she considered the gentle man, and she asked, "What is it, Jean-Luc?"  
  
He sensed the sheer restlessness that had been growing inside, more strongly these last few days ... more strongly than he had ever expected. He turned back to the mirror, gathering one more breath of his own image, and said, "Anij, at the risk of sounding terribly vain, can I ask you a personal question?"  
  
Lifting her shoulder from the pillow and resting her cheek in her hand, she fixed her eyes on him. "So long as you give me your word that you'll come back to bed afterwards."  
  
Smiling, he rotated on the chair to face her. He felt the warmth of the morning sunlight he had grown so accustomed to tingle on his skin, and he realized, in that moment, how truly content he was.  
  
"Is it entirely possible for a person - any person - to reach a crossroad in life ... where all one thinks about are his own interests?"  
  
She narrowed her stare at him. "Jean-Luc, of all the people I've ever met in my three hundred years, you're the most selfless person I've ever known."  
  
Lightly, he shook his head. "No," he replied. "I'm not making myself clear. I'm not talking about selfishness ... necessarily. I think that - in one way or another - we all suffer from some form of selfishness or self-preservation or self interest." He paused, watching her eyes, realizing the almost hypnotic power she held over him. "I'm talking about simple existence. Do we - each of us - reach a point where it become paramount to live life the way we want it to be?"  
  
Easily, she lay back in the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling of her bedroom. Sighing, he watched as the blanket caressed the immeasurable beauty of her form, and he felt himself - even after these past six weeks - still blushing at the thought of their intimacy.  
  
"The universe is a wondrous if not magical place," she finally answered him. "While the Klingons would call it a battleground, the Vulcans would measure it by logic. I don't know that any one man - whether he is a reckless Starfleet cadet or a well-aged leader among his people - every fully lives his life without touching the lives of those around him."  
  
Crossing his arms, he said wryly, "If you haven't guessed, I'm talking about myself ... which I don't do very often. Consequently," he sighed, "I don't do it very well."  
  
She sat up again, giving him her undivided attention. She wanted him to know that she was here to listen as well as to love him.  
  
"Are you afraid that you've reached the twilight of your life?"  
  
Sitting back in the chair, he scoffed at the notion. "Not in the slightest," he admitted. "Perhaps at one time, growing old was a frightening concept, but not any longer. I've accepted the fact that there are fewer years ahead. That's not it. On the contrary, I'm afraid of growing old ... without any purpose in my life."  
  
Rising from the chair before her vanity, he strode slowly back to the bed. Effortlessly, he slid onto the comfortable mattress and under the covers beside her. Her soft and warm skin still brought shivers to him, and he smiled at her. "Anij, I've found myself ... restless with the thought of returning to service."  
  
Again, she rested her cheek in her hand, placing an open palm on his bare chest. He appreciated the subtle warmth of a loved one's touch, and, in that moment, he realized he could say anything to her.  
  
"In what way?" she asked.  
  
Heavily, he sighed again. The weight of beginning this conversation was now well off his shoulders. The fear of completing it was close at hand, but he forged ahead. "I'm uncertain of what value I can add to my career," he said. "You see, I believe I've faced my darkest hours. The Borg assimilated me, but I came back and managed to help defeat them ... on more than one occasion. I've endured a ... civil relationship with the Klingon Empire, even throughout their own civil war. The Jem'Hadar and the Founders." He turned to her and welcomed her eyes with his own. "Anij, I've confronted many of Starfleet gravest enemies. With the grace of whatever ... benevolent being is out there watching over all of us ... and with the professionalism and commitment of the fleet's finest crew, I've faced all of the challenges I believe life has laid out for me. I'm not certain that I've anything left to offer Starfleet, and I'm feeling quite certain that Starfleet has little to offer me in return."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"The obvious way," he confided in her. "I've been here for so very long that ... I can't imagine a living life any other way."  
  
Staring up at the blank ceiling, he sorted out his thoughts, and suddenly recalled a conversation. "There was a time I was on a secret mission of sorts ... to Romulus, and I wound up spending many hours with Ambassador Spock."  
  
"You've mentioned him before," she said, recognizing the name.  
  
"Yes," Picard agreed, nodding, studying her face's gentle curves. She was so very beautiful, but he was convinced that she didn't know it. Was his purpose in life now to convince her? "Yes, I did tell you all about the ambassador. Well, I remember a conversation that he told me he had had many, many years ago with his friend, James Kirk."  
  
"You've mentioned him, too," she reminded him, smiling.  
  
"I know that I've tried to share with you the life I led - every interesting and trivial facet of it that there is - before we met," he said. "When I think back over our time together, I do feel more and more like that reckless cadet you keep referring to ... but I recall Spock told me that, during an engagement he and Captain Kirk shared regarding the Klingon Peace Accords that he found himself feeling ... old. He shared his thoughts on his impending age with his friend. You see, Spock thought that he and his shipmates had reached a point of outliving their usefulness to the Federation. Ultimately, I believe that is why he left active duty and sought an ambassadorship. He wanted to serve the universe as best as he could, not so much the military that had become Starfleet."  
  
Calmly, she stroked the hairs of his chest under her gentle fingertips. "You've been among my people long enough to know that we believe in the fundamental sanctity and purpose of all life forms," she confessed. "It's what guides our civilization. It's what we teach to our children. While we might respectfully keep offlanders under relative scrutiny, we also want to embrace them as universal partners in existence." She paused before adding, "It's important that the children grow up with a clear understanding that not only does life have meaning but also purpose."  
  
"Exactly," he agreed happily. "Spock felt that they - the crew of his Enterprise - had outlived their usefulness." He shrugged. "Their ship had already been scheduled for recall, and its crew was reassigned to other vessels or departments within Starfleet. Spock's fears inevitably did come to pass. From his perspective at the time, he had outgrown his own purpose ... and he had to find another."  
  
"Johnny, are you telling me that you're experiencing doubts about your usefulness to Starfleet?"  
  
"Anij," he said softly, leaning across to kiss her on the nose. "I wish I understood all of what it is I'm feeling, but I have to confess that I don't. All I can tell you is that it's a restlessness, and it's telling me that perhaps I should step aside."  
  
"Step aside?" she asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why would you do such a thing?"  
  
"There are others," he confided in her, "who deserve a chance to lead. While they can, they deserve a chance to underscore their own value to Starfleet the way that I have. Who knows? They might very well usher in a new age of leadership, one that could possibly redefine the potential of the Federation and its position in history."  
  
"Jean-Luc," she whispered back at him, resting her chin on his shoulder, "you know that I've far more years in the universe than you."  
  
"It isn't about age," he told her. "It's about ... happiness."  
  
Rising, she locked her eyes with him.  
  
"I've found a kind of completeness these last few weeks staying here with you," he explained, meeting her stare and taking in the full breadth of her beauty. "Frankly, I can't think of a time when I've ever felt more at peace with myself, who I've been, and who I'm becoming."  
  
With a hand, he brushed back the hair off her face so that he could enjoy all of her sweet, radiant skin. "In your arms, I've found something that, after my brother died, I never imagined possible ... and I owe it all to you.  
  
"The last thing I want to be is a presumptuous old fool," he continued. "Frankly, it doesn't become me. But, when I entertain the thought of returning to service aboard the Enterprise ... while I admit that I'll certainly miss those who have become a part of my life ... and I'll admit that I've established bonds with my crew that certainly extend well beyond the limits of a conventional family ... I can't think of any greater purpose to serve in my life ... except for staying here, at your side, and growing old."  
  
She lifted her head and granted him her undivided attention. He found no expression on her face, so he wasn't aware of how she was reacting inside to what he was saying. He had long hoped that she felt love for him, too, but they were words that the two of them, for reasons unknown, hadn't dared to speak.  
  
"Jean-Luc," she began, "what are you saying?"  
  
He smiled up at her. Fear faded quickly from his heart, and, ever the explorer, he ventured where he hadn't gone before, risking everything he held sacred in the name of the happiness he had professed.  
  
"Anij," he began, "will you marry me?"  



	3. TWILIGHT Chapter 03

In the comfortable counseling room provided for official use on Starbase 118 - one of Starfleet's favored spots for crew exchanges - Commander Deanna Troi reclined in her floral chair, crossed her legs, and placed her cupped, folded hands on one knee. She noticed that the atmosphere in the sealed room was faintly scented with lilacs, and she admired that the walls were colored a soft shade of blue - almost an aqua. Whomever had designated the room for therapeutic conversation had realized that the traditional Starfleet 'antiseptic white' of the Sciences Division probably wasn't conducive to difficult, open, and frank exchanges between counselor and patient.  
  
Despite the wonderful ambiance, her patient remained tight lipped ...  
  
... as usual.  
  
"Reg?" she broke the resounding silence.  
  
Pause.  
  
Looking up from his PADD, Lieutenant Reginald Barclay glanced hopefully into her deep eyes. "Yes?"  
  
She studied his expression, and she hoped, to herself, that this wasn't going to be another uncomfortable amorous confession from the lieutenant. To her personal knowledge, he had put those affections for her - and for Doctor Crusher, and Ensign Lefler, and Doctor Selar, and countless others - aside a long time ago. It wasn't as if he had resigned himself to a life of celibacy; rather, he had determined that service to Starfleet was a higher calling, his life's pursuit.  
  
"Reg," she offered, "I can wait as long as you can, but the waiting game won't get us any closer to a solution."  
  
Pause.  
  
Deflated, he stared back down at the transfer orders brilliantly spelled out in magenta on his PADD's screen. He had served the Enterprise faithfully for so long, and now Starfleet was calling him in ... other directions.  
  
"Is the answer to your current trouble printed there on that PADD, Reg?" Deanna asked.  
  
Pause.  
  
He swallowed, forcing the bile of nervousness back down his throat. "No," he eventually said, smiling briefly at her. "No, Deanna. It isn't."  
  
"Then let's start by defining the problem. Let's talk about what you're feeling and how we might begin the process to get you past your discomfort."  
  
"Okay," he flatly agreed.  
  
"That is the reason we're both here after all, isn't it?"  
  
Pause.  
  
Again, he studied her before nodding. "Yes. Yes, it is. You're absolutely right, counselor. That is why we're here."  
  
"Reg, you don't have to refer to me by my position."  
  
"I know. I know. I apologize."  
  
Pause.  
  
Realizing that perhaps he wasn't ready to begin the healing process, she shrugged. "Would you rather talk about something else?"  
  
"No, no," he blurted out, instantly sliding the PADD aside and then grabbing it back, curling his fingers around the cool metal edges like he was a babe clinging to a security blanket. Smiling to herself, Deanna realized that that analogy might not be very far from the truth. "No, no, no." He smiled, sighing with it, and then he sucked in his display of emotion with an embarrassed jerk. "Commander," he tried. "Deanna," he tried again. "Commander -"  
  
"Reg, we've been friends for a very long time, and, right now, I think it best that you talk with Deanna Troi, your friend ... not Deanna Troi, your counselor. Agreed?"  
  
Once more, he released a smile. "Yes, Deanna. I'm sorry. Really, I am."  
  
"You don't need to apologize."  
  
"Really, I apologize ... for apologizing."  
  
"That's all right."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Interrupting, she was intent on getting this counseling session on track.  
  
"As I understand, you're being transferred back to Earth?"  
  
He nodded once, determinedly. "You're so good at this. I wish I were one-tenth as good at communicating with you as you are with me. Yes. Yes, I am ... being transferred to Earth."  
  
"And this transfer is causing you some anxiety?"  
  
Dropping his guard, he let a tiny smile slip through for her to see. "Yes, it is! Deanna, you can't even begin to imagine the level of career angst this is causing me!"  
  
Relieved that she was making progress so quickly with, perhaps, her greatest counseling challenge ever, she smiled back at him. "And, I'm willing to venture a guess, that the cause of this elevated level of anxiety is the responsibility, the ownership you feel toward the Pathfinder Project?"  
  
Now, nodding eagerly as though his head were about to disconnect, Reg practically bobbed out of his chair. "Yes, Deanna, yes! Thank you for putting it into words so eloquently!" He stopped nodding. "Then again, that's what you do, and this is what I do, and I just don't know if I should up and abandon the Enterprise while the ship is in the midst of a crisis!"  
  
*****  
  
Through the massive viewport before him, William Riker stared out in perfect awe at the Enterprise-E floating in space alongside several Galaxy class starships also docked at Starbase 118. In quiet amazement, he studied the graceful lines of the only home he knew - the ship's now quiet nacelles fascinated him, its main deflector dish calling out to him in the way that one of Earth's ancient lighthouses led sailing boats to safety, the calm of the storm. From here, he could make out the saucer plating that housed the captain's yacht, and he could even trace the lines demarking the ship's escape pods. Arguably the finest ship in the fleet, the Enterprise was easily the most beautiful as well, the most majestic. Its name was legendary, beyond the limitation of the fleet, and the ship was known throughout the entire quadrant. Understandably, only Starfleet's finest had jockeyed to command the variations of the ship, and Will could tick those names off in his head as could any junior officer bucking for a promotion to the revered center seat.  
  
Archer.  
  
April.  
  
Decker.  
  
Kirk.  
  
Spock.  
  
Harriman.  
  
Garrett.  
  
Picard.  
  
Smirking, he thought quizzically, 'Riker?'  
  
He wasn't fooling himself. Since his assignment to her, Will had always wanted command of the Enterprise. In fact, he had passed up countless opportunities for promotion to the captaincy throughout his career out of the sheer hope that one day - someday - Starfleet Command would make his wish come true, granting him occupancy of the center seat once and for all.  
  
Now, he glanced down at the empty glass before him, aimlessly tracing the top rim, and he couldn't help but wonder if his name belonged on that long, auspicious list.  
  
"Another Saurian brandy?"  
  
Startled, he glanced up at the pretty young server. When he had entered the Captain's Lounge, she had greeted him at the door. Taking his arm in hers in more than just complimentary fashion, she had led him to what she whispered was 'the best seat in the house.' She sat him down there, told him her brief history at the station, and offered him his take of whatever was to his liking. Although he wasn't certain, he guessed that what she was really offering was the chance for an evening with herself, her companionship. Space, after all, could be a very lonely place. But, his thoughts heavy on the responsibilities of his new command, he wasn't absolutely certain of her intentions, so his natural instinct - to flirt politely - went out the nearest airlock, along with his self-confidence. Now, here she was, offering him a second chance. Just as his perseverance in waiting for a chance to command the Enterprise had paid off, William Riker found that even neglected opportunities to explore the final frontiers of passion came back to taunt him ... and he was taking his sweet time in replying to her simple question.  
  
Clearing his throat, he prepared to smooth his tone. "What do you recommend?"  
  
Obviously, she suppressed a smile.  
  
He didn't suppress his, leaning forward, planting his forearms on the table. "Clearly, with a career at serving others as notable as yours, you must have something in mind."  
  
"Well," she said, "Captain ... if you must know, I was curious as to how long you were going to remain ... in port?"  
  
He hadn't lost the charm.  
  
Opening his mouth, fully prepared to release the charm of his infamous Riker Maneuver, he didn't get the chance to utter a word before being interrupted by a familiar voice ... one laced with confidence, security, and command.  
  
"How about two Romulan Ales?"  
  
As Will glanced up, his server turned around to greet the new arrival.  
  
Suddenly, with an air of familiarity, the server wagged a finger at the man. "Now, admiral, you know the rules! You can ask for a Romulan Ale, I can serve you a Romulan Ale from the barkeep's personal stock, but it's supposed to be our little secret!"  
  
Will recognized the man immediately.  
  
What he didn't recognize was the rank.  
  
"Admiral," he began, "... Jellico?"  
  
END of Chapter 03 


	4. TWILIGHT : Chapter 04

"Let's talk about it for a moment," Deanna insisted.  
  
"I'm game if you are," agreed Reginald Barclay.  
  
"This is no game, Reg."  
  
"Sorry," he said. "That's just an expression I picked up from ... Doctor Crusher."  
  
Shifting in her chair so as to better face her patient, the counselor leaned forward, resting her palms flat on the table's surface. "You feel that the Enterprise is facing a crisis?"  
  
"Well," he mused aloud, "yes. A crisis, of a sort."  
  
"And you're certain that you're not projecting your own feelings onto the ship and its crew?"  
  
"Well," he continued, momentarily studying the room's aqua ceiling, "no, I don't think I am. I don't think so."  
  
"What specific crisis do you feel that the Enterprise is facing?" she asked.  
  
His fingers unconsciously traced the edging of the PADD he held. Glancing up to the left, he replied, "Maybe crisis isn't exactly the word I'm looking for."  
  
"Can you think of a better one?"  
  
Confused, he replied, "No. I can't."  
  
"Then how would you best describe it?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
"It's your position," she explained. "These are your feelings we're talking about."  
  
Sitting back, he finally released the data instrument and tried relaxing. He took a few deep breaths before speaking: "I think that ... Commander Riker ... uh, Captain Riker, that is ... I think he's the finest replacement for Captain Picard that Starfleet could ever hope for ... that the crew could ever hope for ... and, well, I had hoped to serve under him one day, too."  
  
"But," she wondered aloud, tilting her head his direction, "your transfer to Starfleet Command to assist in the Pathfinder Project is denying you that opportunity."  
  
Furrowing his brow, he crossed his arms. "Yes ... and no."  
  
"Reg, is life really this complicated?"  
  
"Deanna," he blurted out her name, not realizing he had done so, "I'm ... worried."  
  
"What are you worried about?"  
  
Sighing, he tightened his arms across his chest.  
  
"About the project?" she pried, realizing that, in previous sessions, she had to press Lieutenant Barclay very hard in order to get him to verbalize his deepest, darkest fears.  
  
"Yes ... and no."  
  
"About the Enterprise?"  
  
"Yes ... and no."  
  
"About the Voyager?"  
  
Again, he said, "Yes ... and no."  
  
"What is it that's bothering you the most, Reg? Sometimes it's much easier to overcome our challenges if we break them down into easily handled increments. It helps to remind us that situations that appear overwhelming are often more readily conquered when we deal with what's most important, then what's the next greatest obstacle, and so on and so forth. Let's try to deal with this one step at a time."  
  
Nodding, he pursed his lips for a long moment. "I guess it's just that ... you see ... I had looked forward to serving the Enterprise throughout my career. Do you understand?" He uncrossed his arms, his emotions starting to loosen, and he leaned into the table, reaching again for the PADD. He gripped it and felt the cool metal in his palms. "Whether I had complied with orders issued by Captain Picard or Captain Riker is irrelevant. The ship could be commanded by any one of a hundred professionals in Starfleet, but I view both Picard and Riker as exemplary role models and, even in my own unique way, as friends as much as I see them as officers."  
  
"That's good, Reg."  
  
"But ... but now Pathfinder has come along, and I don't want them to feel as if I'm abandoning the ship." Forcing himself to relax even more, he laid the PADD flat on the table. "Does that make any sense?"  
  
She smiled, hoping that the warmth she intended to convey came fully across. "Of course, it does."  
  
"Good," he heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. Thank you. Very good. That's what I'm struggling with, Deanna. I don't want anyone to feel as if I'm abandoning ship. Not Captain Picard. Not Captain Riker. Not Geordi." Gesturing politely in her direction, he added, "And certainly not you!"  
  
"Reg," she said emphatically, "you're not abandoning anyone or anything. It isn't as if you're leaving your post while you're on the watch. You're simply pursuing a very specific career interest that's developed since the disappearance of the USS Voyager."  
  
"Right!" he exclaimed. "Exactly! That's it exactly!"  
  
"Can you tell me why it is you would think that any of us aboard the Enterprise would conclude that you're abandoning us?"  
  
"It's just the thought that keeps crossing my mind," he explained. "I've been thinking an awful lot about Voyager lately ... clearly as I've been picked by Starfleet to assist on this project ... and I've noticed how the struggle that crew must be facing ... well, it mirrors my own life."  
  
Inadvertently, he had piqued her interest. "In what way?"  
  
Frowning, he replied simply, "Deanna, they're lost."  
  
"Reg," she said softly, her compassion for human feeling obvious. "You aren't lost."  
  
Grimacing, he tried again. "Maybe not so much lost as it is ... driven, but not quite certain that you're going to get there." Before she could interrupt, he pressed onward. "Counselor, I know that I've served the Enterprise well. I'd like to think that I have Picard's and Riker's blessing. I certainly know that they've only had kind words for me ... well, except for a few select occasions ... let's not talk about that ... I know that they think highly of me and that their praise, as of late, has certainly helped me to land this ... this ... this dream assignment of attempting to establish contact with the Voyager and its crew. I mean, who knows how far away from home they are? I certainly don't, and I would imagine that Starfleet Sciences has no idea." Suppressing the desire the fidget with the PADD, he simply touched the device with his fingertips. "But, in their own way, that crew is serving a purpose ... we believe they're trying to get home ... against what very well may be insurmountable odds ... and they don't even have the means to say two words to their loved ones! How absolutely infuriating that must be?  
  
"I've always known that, when my career in Starfleet was winding down, I wanted it wind down with friends," he continued. "People like you, Deanna. People like the captain and all of the others I've shared time with aboard the Enterprise." He paused, finding his breath from his long speech. "Now, I'm heading off to Starfleet, and I feel as if ... as if ... well, as if my career is starting over!"  
  
Carefully, she lifted her hand from the table and leaned even more forward, reaching out and pressing her palm down to the back of Reg's hand.  
  
"Is this it, Reg?" she asked. "Simple contact?"  
  
Hesitantly, he turned his hand over, and he dared to take his palm in hers. Holding her hand, he nodded. "Yes, Deanna. I don't want to lose all of the people I've grown to call family ... but I have to go and give the crew of the Voyager the same chance to know these feelings that I've discovered. I feel ... I feel in some way ... I feel in some way that I owe them that." He stared into her eyes, pleased to see her smiling back at him, and he added, "I have to know that I did all that I could to give them that, and I don't want to sacrifice all I've gained in my own career."  
  
She squeezed his hand, acknowledging his emotions.  
  
"Is that selfish of me?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
Pleased that she had again managed to make headway with Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, she nodded. "It is, Reg," she confessed, slowly releasing her hold and sitting back in her chair, "but it's important that you understand one idea that I've learned ... from all people ... my mother."  
  
Admiring, he said, "I've always liked your mother."  
  
"You might stand alone in the category, Reg."  
  
"What's the lesson?"  
  
"Much of what we do in life?" she began, her eyes fixed on his. "It's all selfish, Reg."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
She nodded. "That doesn't make it inappropriate, or wrong, or evil, or any other emotion you might be feeling today or you may feel in the future." She returned her palms to the tabletop, ignoring the elation of empathic success and instead focusing on mere words. "There is nothing wrong with being selfish unless it intentionally brings harm to others ... and then you'll find yourself in a position of knowing the mistake you've made, and you'll have the ability to understand how to begin solving it."  
  
He didn't say anything. She trusted that he was sitting there, mulling over the ideas.  
  
"Follow your heart," she concluded. "It'll never lead you into evil, Reg. And I know that your heart is telling you that those people aboard the Voyager need you ... right now ... more than your friends aboard the Enterprise."  
  
He remained silent, his expression slowly changed from a morose frown to one of satisfaction.  
  
"You know how to reach me if you need me, Reg," she stated.  
  
"Of course, I do," he agreed.  
  
"You'll pardon me if I sound selfish, but I would think that our friendship alone - what we've shared, what we've come to admire and understand in one another - would be one of the foundations you take with you wherever Starfleet and life takes you."  
  
He smiled warmly, and she knew that, whatever thoughts were swirling in that unpredictable brain of his, they were the right ones.  
  
"You're not a bad person, Reginald Barclay," Deanna explained, giving him a wry smile she had learned from her Imzadi, William Riker. "You're just ... human."  
  
END of Chapter 04 


	5. TWILIGHT : Chapter 05

Before he realized how quickly the unlikely series of events had unfolded, Will Riker had graciously invited Admiral Edward Jellico - a man he had long-considered to be a mortal enemy within the highest ranks of the Federation - to join him at his table. From the server, Jellico had ordered two steins of Romulan Ale, which she delivered without delay, and, together, Will and the admiral marveled at the magnificent view of the Enterprise-E through the viewport.  
  
"She's quite the ship," the man remarked, setting his glass down on the transparent steel table before him.  
  
"That she is," Will agreed politely.  
  
"Perhaps her lines aren't as elegant or graceful as the Enterprise-D. I don't know your opinion of Starfleet's current take on ship designs, but I happen to prefer the earlier Galaxy Class. Still, she's the Enterprise, and she's still something to look at."  
  
"That she is," Will said, realizing he had unintentionally repeated himself.  
  
"You're a lucky man to have her, Will."  
  
Lifting his head slightly, he studied the admiral's expression, expecting to find hints of the dissatisfaction he knew Jellico had felt with Riker while serving on board the Enterprise. Try as he might, Will searched but couldn't find the veiled disdain he was expecting. "I like to think that I've earned her ... sir."  
  
With one hand, Jellico waved off what a reasonable person might've seen as a parry to his blow. "Of course, you have! Ten times over! I wasn't thinking otherwise."  
  
With a surprised yet curt smile, Will nodded. "Thank you, sir."  
  
Narrowing his eyes at the captain, Jellico stated, with a touch of humor in his voice, "And you can stop calling me 'sir.' I may be a senior officer, but I'll share a little confession with you, Will: I've grown very weary of the constant reminder in the last few weeks."  
  
His smile turning into a polite laugh, Will raised his stein for a sip of his ale. "Now there's a feeling I can identify with ... sir."  
  
Jellico returned the smile. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me here."  
  
Startled, Will sank back in the padding of his chair, nearly spitting the blue liquid from his mouth in utter shock. He had been ordered by Starfleet Command to deliver the Enterprise to Starbase 118 to complete several crew transfers, one of which he trusted Deanna was taking care of at the moment, and to meet with an unnamed admiral for new orders.  
  
"You?" he asked, incredulous.  
  
The admiral reclined in his seat, visibly hoping to match the captain's lead. "That's right. I wanted to meet with you personally to discuss the Enterprise's next assignment. I am, after all, in charge of the Fleet."  
  
Forcibly, Will swallowed his ale. "In charge of the Fleet?"  
  
Still smiling graciously, the officer took his own helping of ale, and he glanced casually around the Captain's Lounge. "Well, the official announcement was delayed at my request," he explained, folding his hands on the table in front of himself. "I wanted to take some time to familiarize myself with what's been happening at Starfleet Command and throughout the quadrant. Before I was publicly accepting the challenge to serve as Fleet Admiral, I wanted to be absolutely certain of what I was getting myself into ... long before the vultures came calling to, as they say, peck the life out of me."  
  
"You'll pardon me for saying, admiral," Will tried, "but, based on our past experience with one another, you never were the type to ... shall we say ... take it one step at a time?"  
  
Their server approached, and the admiral waved her off easily. "Will, I think you'll find in time that I've always a purpose behind what I do."  
  
"A purpose?" the captain asked.  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Admiral, with all due respect, when you came aboard the Enterprise, you practically ripped her out from under the crew's feet!"  
  
With an expression of seriousness, Jellico replied, "You don't have to agree, but I believe that my actions were dictated by the circumstances. To be perfectly honest, I never meant to step on anyone's toes, most certainly yours."  
  
"You practically confined me to quarters!"  
  
"Your actions confined yourself, Will," the admiral explained. "Asking you to step aside was never part of any personal agenda on my part. It was never part of any grand scheme."  
  
"Then why did you allow it to happen?"  
  
"Unfortunately, I didn't feel that we could accomplish together the goal spelled out for me in taking the assignment while Picard was being held by the Cardassians."  
  
"Held and tortured," he corrected.  
  
"That's right, Will. Held and tortured. We did what we could to stop that, and we were successful in the end."  
  
Reaching out, the junior officer swiped up his ale and took another full swallow.  
  
"Will, I'm not here to mince words with you, and I'm certainly not here to mend old wounds ... but, if it's any consolation, I won't pull rank if you won't."  
  
With a tone of finality, William Riker concluded, "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke about the mission. That is, after all, the reason we're here ... sir."  
  
Sighing, Jellico stared at the captain. There were no sparks of anger or vile in his eyes. There was just a look of calm determination. "Fine," he agreed. "Let's talk about the mission. I have no problem with that, Will, but let's get something perfectly straight between the two of us ... captain."  
  
"Why not, sir?"  
  
With a slight smile, the man offered, "Neither you nor I owe the other any debt of gratitude. As you said, you earned your promotion by the merit in your own actions and your own decisions. I understand, appreciate, and agree with that assessment. But ... I want you to understand that you've been given the opportunity to sit in the center seat at my request."  
  
Unexpectedly, Will coughed when he tried to swallow his ale.  
  
"What?"  
  
Jellico held up a PADD he had pulled from a uniform pocket. "Since my brief tour of duty aboard the Enterprise, I've been monitoring your career."  
  
"Based on our brief time together," Will countered, "I couldn't imagine why you would take even a remote interest in a single mission I served."  
  
Ignoring the taunt to debate, the admiral tossed the PADD to the table. He picked up his stein and took a healthy drink. "I understand your position. While it might even amaze you to hear this, everything I've seen from you ... every decision you've made ... every challenge you've faced ... I've come to admire." Casually, he glanced around the Lounge once more, taking in the sight of the various officers celebrating together, reminiscing about old adventures and the ones yet to evolve. "As you well know, the Federation has been through hell. The Borg. The Dominion War. Even your recent events in the Briar Patch exposed one very ugly underside of the Federation Council." Easily, he turned his attention back to the man seated before him. "While we've all been through hell, I'm the first to say that we're just starting down the road on our way back home. Others in Command are more optimistic than I am. I don't know. I guess that I've always been one who found more enjoyment in rooting for the underdog than in cheering on a faithless champion."  
  
"Faithless?" Will asked. "Admiral, how can you hold your position and feel that way about the Federation?"  
  
"It isn't difficult," he answered. "Will, when you come to know some of the things I've come to know ... some of the dangers still lurking on our collective horizon ... you naturally start to question whether or not the United Federation of Planets is, always, the best form of galactic order available to all species in the universe." He held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong here. I'm not advocating a benign dictatorship, nor am I second-guessing my promotion or my position within Fleet Command. On the contrary, this has nothing to do with me.  
  
"I'm talking about our unique situation in the universal family of life itself," he continued. "It isn't easy always being our brother's keeper. I think that's a lesson some of the top brass have learned from the War with the Dominion, and they learned it with great difficulty and suffered great losses because of it." He glanced around, ensuring their privacy, before he added, "If you haven't heard, there were several strategic alliances - member worlds of the Federation - that found the idea of tucking their tail between their legs and seceding the UFP more appealing than standing up to fight for what was ours against the Dominion."  
  
Shrugging, Will realized that the Enterprise had missed much of the action that came with the war. He understood Starfleet's position that the Enterprise, serving as the mighty flagship to all of the Fleet, could easily find itself in a jeopardous situation if it were sent to the front lines ... but that didn't mean he had to agree with it.  
  
"Thankfully, the war's over," Will acknowledged.  
  
"That we can agree upon."  
  
"By your own admission, isn't the Federation en route to the welcome days of business as usual?"  
  
Smiling and nodding, Jellico actually showed a glimmer of pain in his eyes. "If diplomacy were only that simple." Reaching out, he pulled his stein closer but stopped short of taking another swallow. "Will, when I said that you were lucky to have command of the Enterprise, I didn't mean to imply that you weren't deserving of it. I meant, simply, that I was envious of your position. One of the lessons I've learned in my brief tenure as Fleet Admiral is that the universe and politics don't always go hand-in-hand. Sometimes, it's far easier to worry about the lives of your closest comrades than it is to worry about insulting entire worlds when success is measured by their commitment, not yours, to higher purposes."  
  
Despite his best attempt, Will Riker actually felt sorry for the admiral.  
  
"But the problems of one middle-aged admiral isn't what I came here to discuss," Jellico concluded.  
  
"What did you come here for?"  
  
His heavy thoughts brushed aside, the man finally took another healthy swallow. "I need to brief you on your mission, Captain Riker." Clearing his throat, he sat up in his chair, and he slid the PADD across the table. "Don't let this go to your head, but there isn't another officer in all of Starfleet I'd trust with this, Will. That includes your former commanding officer." Immediately, he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "That isn't an insult. I hold men like Jean-Luc Picard in the highest regard, but, as I'm well aware, you have a unique connection to the personnel necessary to pull this off with the kind of ... delicacy ... that it requires."  
  
Curious, Will retrieved the PADD and activated it. A lush, green planet appeared on the small interface. Information pertaining to the world immediately scrolled across the face.  
  
"Thilon Two?" he read.  
  
"It's a small Class M planet located in the Thilon System," Jellico explained. "It isn't much to look at, unless you're into the wild outdoors. It boasts several small pockets of civilization. They're all pre-Warp societies. Starfleet does maintain a duck-blind operation on the planet's surface, but it only serves the purpose of anthropological study. The Thilonians are, at best, a century away from an industrial revolution. They're several centuries away from First Contact."  
  
"If you don't mind my asking," Will began, "what's our immediate interest in their world?"  
  
Edging forward, the admiral reached across the table and tapped a key on the PADD's user interface. Suddenly, the planet disappeared from the screen, replaced by the image of a Class Two Starfleet Communications Probe.  
  
"Are you familiar with the Vandemark?"  
  
Squinting, searching his memory, the captain answered, "I believe that's Captain Yanello's ship."  
  
"It is, indeed," Admiral Jellico replied. "Several days ago, the Vandemark detected what Yanello's crew thought was an unidentified craft emerging from a very small singularity not far from the Thilon System. The damn wormhole opened up right off the ship's hull! Well, it turns out that the craft was not only a communications probe like the one you're looking at, but also it was one of our own. The ship's science officer managed to scan the probe before it was sucked into Thilon Two's gravity well. It went down, impacted in one of the uncivilized parts of the planet. Fortunately for us, the Starfleet scientists there monitored the craft's entry into their atmosphere. While the craft is no longer broadcasting a locator signature, the scientists insist that the probe survived re-entry. Apparently, the area where it landed is one thriving marsh. The duck-blind staff insists that they would've detected any explosion, and they picked up no traces of any destruction. While they can't pinpoint the crash site, any operative with a tricorder - within a reasonable proximity - should be able to find and retrieve the probe. Rather than send out a team of anthropologists on a recovery mission, Starfleet thought it best to send in a trained officer or two."  
  
Confused, Will read over the information scrolling across the small screen. "Forgive me if I sound at a loss, admiral, but what's all the interest in a communications beacon? It's an Artemus Class, and they're retired from service, if I'm correct."  
  
"You are."  
  
"If the probe went down in an area where it will go undetected by the Thilonians and not pose any risk of cultural contamination," the captain reasoned, "is it really worth risking an away team to recover something that will, more likely, serve a museum than it will the Fleet?"  
  
"Take a closer look at that scan, captain."  
  
Glancing down at the PADD, Will scanned the information -  
  
"Voyager?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"That's correct," Jellico said. "That probe, last registered to the USS Voyager, emerged from a singularity."  
  
"You've got to be ... that's amazing ..."  
  
Leaning forward, the admiral added, "Now, we don't know what information that probe might contain ... but we do know one thing. Being lost in space who knows how far from Earth or any ship supply depot, Captain Kathryn Janeway certainly wouldn't go wasting something as valuable as an outdated stellar probe unless she had found a means to communicate ... or found information that needed communicating to Starfleet Command."  
  
Excitement ringing through his ears, Will finished his ale and prepared to stand, eager to take this information back to the Enterprise and get underway. "This is the reason that work has finally sped up on the Pathfinder Project?"  
  
The admiral nodded. "It's one large piece that adds to the puzzle, but we still don't know what the puzzle looks like." Again, he glanced around the Lounge before continuing. "I can't disclose how, Will, but Starfleet has known that Voyager was lost in space for some time now. We've known that it landed in the Delta Quadrant. We're all only too aware that the Delta Quadrant is precisely what those of us in Command like to call 'Borg Country.'" He pointed at the PADD. "Now, this probe might contain strategic information about plans for another Borg incursion on our space. It might contain schematics or technology that Janeway managed to steal from our cybernetic friends."  
  
"On the other hand," Will interjected, "it might contain only letters to friends and loved ones. It might be simply a message to let us know that they're alive."  
  
With an air of seriousness, Jellico replied, "Starfleet is betting it contains something vastly more valuable." He nodded at the captain. "That's why I'm giving this to you personally, captain."  
  
Smiling slowly, Will Riker was pleased to finally hear words of confidence coming from the admiral. "I'll head the away team myself."  
  
Curtly, Jellico shook his head.  
  
"That won't be possible, Will."  
  
"But, sir-"  
  
"The Thilonians maintain a matriarch in all of their tribes," he explained. "You'd be a liability. Deanna wouldn't."  
  
"Deanna?"  
  
"That's right, captain," he said. "I want you to head immediately to the Thilon System. I want Deanna Troi dispatched to the surface to recover that probe." Before Will could object, Jellico added, "She can have Commander Data accompany her ... as a personal attaché. That wouldn't appear suspicious in the event that they're discovered by any of the Thilonians. They're nomadic, and my fear is that the marsh may end up being populated by a handful of natives." Will was intent on objecting, but the admiral continued in interrupting him. "We cannot risk whatever information could be contained in that probe, captain. I'm counting on you and your crew to retrieve it as expeditiously as possible. Do you understand your orders?"  
  
Deflated, Will nodded. "Aye, sir."  
  
The captain noticed that the admiral's eyes suddenly rose, looking in a direction away from the table.  
  
"Speaking of Commander Troi."  
  
Turning, Will saw Deanna arriving at their table. He and Jellico stood. She was smiling broadly, and she quickly extended her hand to the man. Noticing the rank insignia on his collar, she immediately remarked, "Well, if it isn't ... Admiral Jellico?!"  
  
"Deanna," he replied, taking her hand warmly in his. "What a pleasure it is to see you, and what a small universe it is."  
  
"Sir?" she asked quizzically.  
  
"We were just talking about you."  
  
  
END of Chapter 05 


	6. Chapter 06

Elsewhere ...  
  
  
  
1001010101010101011010  
  
Dawn seeped languidly into Hallaxus's magenta sky. The splinters of light from the planet's twin suns slowly pierced the crimson blanket slung from the heavens over the top of the manufactured world.  
  
From where it stood, Ruvienne the Prime knew that in precisely seventeen seconds the first of its home world's suns would break the barrier of the distant horizon. In precisely thirty-one-point-nine seconds, the first sun - then fully exposed in the morning sky - would painfully glare down upon that Mechadel, Ruvienne's city. Precisely six-point-nine seconds later, the second sun would follow its twin into view of all the Hallux Moderators in the northern hemisphere, the star taking only twenty-three-point-eight-five-eight seconds to reach full visibility. Ruvienne knew that the second sun's mass was marginally less than Hallaxus's primary star, but for reasons incalculable, it stood, monitored, and studied every sunrise since inception and activation. Once both suns had risen, the sky would transform from shades of red into daytime blue, the ultraviolet radiation interacting with elements comprising the world's troposphere.  
  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010101011010  
  
The twin suns climbed above the world's edge and into the sky as they had for hundreds of millennia before, and another day dawned on Hallaxus.  
  
As Ruvienne knew, the Dia'Soto knew, and, if need be, the simple thought of reflection, of appreciation, of admiration, would be shared throughout all the connected species of the Hallux Sentience ... even with the lowly Borg Collective. However, it doubted there existed any need to share such a fundamental - if not inconsequential - impression with the Sotan operatives spread across the Delta Quadrant. In fact, the drones should have other objectives on their collective mind. If they didn't, they were far better off being sublimated into gas and jettisoned like refuse into the great vacuum that was the cosmos than in facing the vengeful wrath of the Moderators.  
  
As Ruvienne concluded, so the Dia'Soto agreed.  
  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010101011010  
  
'Time is measurable only as a nuisance,' it mentally told the Sentience. There was no need for speech when living amongst linked beings.  
  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010101011010  
1001010101010----  
  
Surprised, Ruvienne lifted his massive robotic head instinctively.  
  
It was experiencing an unexpected break in the data stream due to a massive influx of unanticipated facts filtering through Hallaxus's planetary Central Information Processing Core.  
  
0010101011010001010100  
1111101010100010101111  
1010100001010101010111  
0110101010101000010111  
1010100010111011----  
  
A Sotan operative - a drone of his design and dispatch - had interacted with a crewmember of an Alpha Quadrant starship.  
  
Ruvienne knew, as did the Dia'Soto, that this interaction was not the first time that the Sentience had dissected, contemplated, and classified experiences with the United Federation of Planets. In fact, the Dia'Soto had known about Earth, the Alpha Quadrant, and the Federation for quite some time. Earthlings, as they were known colloquially, didn't compute. They were organic in nature, comprised primarily of carbon. Due to their composition, they were classified as untrue life forms, and untrue life forms warranted either assimilation or eradication. As their primary residence - a planet called Earth - lay tens of thousands of light years beyond the present reach of the Collective, the Dia'Soto had elected eradication. It was, simply, easier. To Ruvienne's recollection, a primitive space probe, one called V'ger, had recently been equipped and dispatched to properly deal with the 'Incalculables.'  
  
The Dia'Soto understood that V'ger had failed in its mission.  
  
0101010100010101010101  
1101010101011101010010  
1010101111010101010111  
  
The operative's transmission confirmed that the Incalculables had access to information regarding ChannelSpace. Additionally, the operative's initial conclusion was that the crew of the USS Voyager, Federation Registry #74656, would be attempting to breach ChannelSpace for purposes unknown, presumably to attempt transit back to the Alpha Quadrant.  
  
Ruvienne was displeased, and the Dia'Soto agreed.  
  
0000010101010000000000  
1101011110000000101000  
0101111110101010111110  
  
Indeed, Hallux traffic logs had recently recorded an unauthorized, unrecognized access to ChannelSpace. As the complex sensor stream showed only negligible traces of interference, the transportation was deemed irrelevant. It had been ignored and allowed. At a glance, Ruvienne concluded that the transmission coordinates that would've allowed a ship too small to transport any life form to emerge within the Alpha Quadrant ... in reach of the Incalculables.  
  
Ruvienne was disappointed, and the Dia'Soto agreed.  
  
Immediately, it retrieved the static sensory scans of the unauthorized transit, and it studied the information in greater detail. Specifically, the transit was a pod, primarily constructed for the transportation of communication signals across a narrow width of the subspace band. Broadcast range was limited to one-point-nine light years. Based on markings appearing on the transit's hull, Ruvienne concluded that the pod was property registered to ...  
  
The Federation!  
  
However, upon closer inspection, it learned that the pod had been altered - no doubt by one of the Incalculables aboard the Starship Voyager - and the projectile contained a rudimentary data storage receptacle. With extreme care, Ruvienne enhanced the sensor resolution, concentrating its focus around the information contained within the receptacle.  
  
0101010100000101110101  
1101011110000000101000  
0101010001010101011001  
  
To its astonishment, Ruvienne reviewed encrypted Sotan computer files that had been designed to lay dormant within a Borg drone's neural matrix.  
  
1110101010101000101011  
1001010011101010101010  
1010100111111111110101  
  
Ruvienne was incensed, as were the Dia'Soto.  
  
1010100111111111110101  
  
Classified existence data ... somehow co-opted from a member of the Collective ...  
  
1010100111111111110101  
  
... information privy, by intent and design, only to the Moderators ...  
  
1010100111111111110101  
  
'Enough.'  
  
The time had arrived, once and for all, for the carbon-based units to be removed.  
  
1010100111111111110101  
  
Within a millisecond, Ruvienne understood that the message was bound for Earth, dispatched by that rogue starship wandering aimlessly through Borg Space.  
  
1010100111111111110101  
  
In a moment of perfect clarity, Ruvienne peacefully concluded that he was left a single alternative: the moment had arrived, once and for all, to personally rid space of the infantile 'carbon units' infesting the universe. As the Borg had proven themselves inadequate time and time again to the task of subjugating the human race, assimilating them into the Collective where they could be more closely moderated, he concluded that the time had finally come for a more stringent, more permanent measure.  
  
Where the message was bound, he would follow.  
  
Where the message was received, he would annihilate.  
  
And the Dia'Soto agreed.  
  
  
End of Chapter 06 


	7. Chapter 07

Tensely studying the thin shimmering cable stretching from the shuttlecraft's primary command interface to Commander Data's exposed positronic interface, Deanna Troi asked, "You're absolutely certain that this is ... safe?"  
  
Granting her his best interpretation of a human smile, the silver-skinned android tapped several of the touchplates on Shuttlecraft Io's primary drive console. Turning to face her, he replied, "Immeasurably safer than physical control, commander."  
  
Slowly, begrudgingly, she nodded.  
  
"Has Geordi approved your specifications?"  
  
"Indeed," Data replied, keying in the programmed master control sequence. Io's onboard computer twittered in the affirmative. "In fact, you might find it particularly intriguing to note that this experiment - if it can be appropriate called such - has been nothing short of a joint project between Lieutenant Commander LaForge and myself since discovery of the possible neural interlink nineteen-point-seven-four days ago."  
  
Pleased with himself, the android sat back in the pilot's chair. "Would you be interested in a demonstration?"  
  
Sensing her own nervousness, Deanna swallowed, easing herself back in her own chair. "Are you prepared?"  
  
"Fully."  
  
Instinctively, she swallowed again, hoping her tenseness didn't show. It was one thing to experience fear on her own, but it was something completely different to share it with a fellow officer.  
  
After some thought, she finally said, "I'm ready ... if you are."  
  
"Let us commence."  
  
With that, Data took his hands away from the shuttlecraft's master panel and crossed his arms.  
  
Suddenly, Deanna Troi felt Io lurch to the left, defying the safety of the ship's inertial dampeners.  
  
"Compensating," Data said.  
  
"Please do," she muttered, her Betazed stomach churning at the sudden, unexpected motion.  
  
"As you can see, counselor," the android began, studying the readouts from all his stations ports, "I am exercising full operational pilot of Shuttlecraft Io through the use of a positronic interface. The onboard computer system is responding affirmatively to my neural commands. As the computer can obey my commands neural projected through the interface, I can as well measure the operating efficiency of all onboard systems by the use of simple cybernetic calculation. Information flows freely both ways through the interface. I will now engage braking thrusters to lower the Io into the primary orbital vector approved with the Thilon Duckblind Ops Command."  
  
Glancing up from the controls in time to glimpse the darkness of outer space morphing into the soft blue traces of Thilon's upper atmosphere, the android smiled.  
  
"Fascinating," he said. With a hint of pride sounding in his voice, he announced, "We have entered the primary orbital approach vector, commander."  
  
Relieved, Deanna glanced down at the PADD she held in her hands. Out of habit, she had been reviewing - over and over and over - the mission protocols, trying to commit each and every article to memory. As Data would put it, she found it more 'efficient.' Once on the planet's surface and venturing into the Thilon wilds, she didn't want to take any more equipment with her than was absolutely necessary for fear of 'cultural contamination.' As the Prime Directive stated, there was a tremendous inherent danger in exposing too many pieces of Starfleet technology on assignment to an undeveloped, non-Warp-capable world, and Deanna wasn't about to risk leaving a single PADD or comm badge behind, where it could possibly be found by one of the Thilonians. Such an accident could damage, beyond measure, the course of the burgeoning culture's growth ... possibly placing an entire race on course to societal collapse.  
  
She didn't want to wash the blood off her hands over making such an elementary mistake, and that's why she requested that Data accompany her on the mission. While on leave from the Enterprise-E, the commander had participated in several duckblind operations, with only the one on the Baku Homeworld being labeled a 'catastrophe.' Otherwise, his record was impeccable, and that was the kind of expertise she needed.  
  
"Commander, is something troubling you?" he suddenly asked.  
  
Smiling weakly, she replied, "Oh, no, no. I was just ... lost in thought."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Thank you for asking."  
  
"You are welcome, commander."  
  
Suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of the mission bearing down on her, Deanna tried changing the subject. "Data, do we have to be so formal?"  
  
Obviously perplexed, the android inclined his head. "I do not understand."  
  
She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "Stop calling me 'commander.'"  
  
"My apologies ... Deanna."  
  
Smiling, relaxing in the seat beside him, she said, "Apologies accepted ... Data."  
  
At his skillful handling, the shuttlecraft dropped further into Thilon's atmosphere, dipping into a series of bulbous and cottony white clouds. She watched as he, by thought alone, expertly piloted them through the cotton, blazing out the other side, zooming gracefully into the planet's morning sky before slipping behind another cloud front.  
  
"Be careful, Data," she warned, leaning forward to glance out the transparent shield. "We wouldn't want any of the Thilonians glancing up into their morning sky to see us and misinterpret it as a sign from whatever god they might worship."  
  
"Understood, Deanna," he said, already adjusting his flight path to take him deeper into the oncoming clouds. "However, I do not believe we are in any jeopardy. From what I recall from the operational briefing provided by Duckblind Ops, the Thilons do not believe nor worship any higher form of existence."  
  
"Really?" she asked. Tapping a key on her PADD, she retrieved the societal analysis of the Thilon people. "Now, how could I have missed that?"  
  
"In point of fact," the android continued, "the Ammenadra - the Thilon ruling council - eradicated any mention of gods or other higher forms of being from all of their literature four decades ago. Similar revolutions have occurred on other underdeveloped worlds, but they have all been precipitated by unexpected encounter with an outside species. The encounters have resulted in social upheavals, often times nearing collapse of a civilization unprepared to deal so suddenly and unpredictably with the knowledge of any existence beyond their own. According to the historical database, no such event has taken place on Thilon, which leaves the actions of the Ammenadra a curiosity ... a cultural renaissance, one that occurred with no explanation provided to their constituents." Staring forward, he mentally calculated a new flight path for the shuttle. "Nonetheless, I will endeavor to keep Io from any visual detection."  
  
Distracting her attention from the PADD, a light blinked on the console before her, and Deanna deactivated the sensor. "Are you detecting the homing beacon from Starfleet's duckblind operation?"  
  
"Not as of yet," he answered. "However, given our current proximity from the concealed Thilon base, we should be receiving their confirmation signal within the next ninety-point-two-three-five seconds."  
  
Teasing, she said, "So precise!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Openly curious, she asked, "Data, do you ever grow ... weary ... of measuring variables in terms so exact?"  
  
"On the contrary," he replied, dimpling his chin in his approximation of a human expression, "I find it one of the more comforting traits of my cybernetic intellect. To know - to an exact degree - relieves me of having to accept the unknown." He glanced over at his shipmate. "Counselor, as a single or series of events must have led the Thilons to eliminate the mention of other beings from their literature, one might conclude that the lack of knowledge - to any degree - can radically alter a way of life." He studied her face for a moment. "Would you not agree with that conclusion?"  
  
"Of course, I would," she consented. "But why would that bother you?"  
  
Again, he inclined his head, momentarily lost in thought.  
  
"Since the permanent fusion of the emotion chip in my central processing cortex," he began, "I have detected low to moderate levels of what I can only approximate to be anxiety when encountering a situation that defies my understanding and analysis."  
  
Surprised, she laid her PADD on the shuttle's nearest console. "You've been feeling anxious? I didn't know that, Data."  
  
Cautiously, he studied her expression. "We have yet to ... discuss it."  
  
"You know," she began, sitting back, "it hadn't even occurred to me that now that you're experiencing constant emotion, we might want to schedule regular chats ... from time to time." Reaching out, she placed her hand on his shoulder. "We should be talking about your emotions, like I do with every member of the crew. We should talk about how you're feeling. Together, we should explore what you're experiencing and how you're dealing it."  
  
Politely, the android nodded. "To be perfectly honest, the thought had crossed my mind, counselor."  
  
"Really?" she asked, her curiosity again piqued. "Data, why haven't you said something?"  
  
An alert pinged on the helm, and Data routinely compensated engine propulsion to accommodate for the increased gravitational pull of the planet. "As they say, it was not a pressing matter."  
  
"But, Data, you've been experiencing emotions for several years now," she reasoned. "I'm sure that some of them have left you ... confused?"  
  
Again, he dimpled his chin, nodding.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Leaning toward him, she stated, "Then, it's official. Once we return to the Enterprise, you and I will meet to draw up a schedule of sessions to discuss those emotional experiences you're having in greater detail."  
  
Curtly, he replied, "If you wish, Deanna."  
  
She heard - or, rather, sensed with her empathic abilities - something in the android's tone. Fearing she had insulted her companion, she offered, "Data, you do understand that I would only be trying to help you make sense of impulses that might otherwise seem illogical."  
  
He nodded. With the expression of a child, he asked, "Would it be appropriate if I made a request, counselor?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
Focusing his attention on her, he said, "I would agree that a protracted dialogue surrounding the impulses I receive through my emotion chip would be entirely beneficial to my continued growth as a sentient individual. I would also agree that such dialogues would increase the bonds that we already share not only as shipmates but also as friends. However, solely out of respect for my privacy, I would ask that you keep our sessions ... confidential."  
  
Relieved, she smiled. "Of course, Data," she assured him. "All of the sessions I have with any of the crew are kept in strict confidence."  
  
"That is not quite what I mean ... commander."  
  
Curious, she raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Counselor," he began, "as you know, I am a unique being. I am, perhaps, the only one of my kind in the universe. In fact, there may never be another of my kind, despite Starfleet Sciences' attempt to replicate the technology. The temptation to ... exploit ... such knowledge that could be gained through an exchange of my experiences might be tremendous."  
  
"Data," she began, "are you afraid that, at some point, I might want to author a paper on your emotional experiences?"  
  
Approximating a human frown, he nodded.  
  
"Commander," she began, softening her tone to help ease his discomfort, "I was thinking of speaking with you as my friend ... not as a professional. Of course, my professional opinion may offer a differing perspective on one if not all of your experiences, but I'm offering to chat with you from the heart, Data, not from the head."  
  
He smiled.  
  
"Then I agree and anticipate meeting with you on a personal level, Deanna. And I thank you for understanding my needs."  
  
She returned his smile with warmth. "You're welcome."  
  
"I am already looking forward to our first ... chat?"  
  
"So am I." 


End file.
